


Lost Footage

by HanginWithLilJ (FlyDizzeeD)



Series: Learning to Cope [22]
Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF)
Genre: Crying, Fear, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, fear wetting, youve been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyDizzeeD/pseuds/HanginWithLilJ
Summary: I don't have a good summary for this one. VR horror games be scary yo
Relationships: Adam Kovic/Elyse Willems/James Willems
Series: Learning to Cope [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1141466
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Lost Footage

"Try the basement."

James is grinning as he says it. Not that Adam can tell, what with the bulky VR headset trapping him in this house of hell. The sound of wood scraping wood echoes from down the virtual hall behind him and has him whirling around. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, can practically taste it crawling up his throat.

Why does he let them do this to him again?

"I am not trying the fucking basement."

Ah, yes. The audience. He tries the basement.

He can feel the sweat on the back of his neck, rolling across goosebump skin. Elyse and James continue with quips and commentary behind him, but the combination of immersion of fear make it hard to process the words. He heads down the (naturally) dark hallway that leads to the basement door. Floorboards creak as he moves, because why not? The quiet and eerie soundtrack of the game completely stops as he opens the basement door and heads down the stairs. It's finally quiet enough for him to hear the others.

"His hands are shaking." James says, chuckling. "Look at the controllers."

"Be brave, Adam!" At least Elyse is helpful. He sighs, flashlight flickering as he steps onto the basement floor. They've been at this for 45 minutes already. At this point, his nerves are fried. He nearly jumps out of his skin at the shadow of a bookcase. James's laughter is uncontrollable. It makes some part of Adam shrink in on himself.

"Fuck off." He mutters, voice wobbly.

"You're barely moving Adam, speed _up_."

Yes, because getting to the scary parts faster sounds like great fun to him. A fantastic idea. He swallows hard around a lump in his throat and turns a corner, braced for some sort of awfulness. What meets him is far more corporeal. He jerks hard away from the sudden grip on his shoulder with a screech, stumbling to the side. His foot catches one of the many hazardous wires of the room and has him tumbling to the floor, landing unceremoniously on his ass. The controllers hang limp from their wrist straps as his hands frantically cover his head. James's laughter breaks through the headphones now knocked askew on his head.

"I-I can't do--" Adam's stuttering is interrupted by an in-game scream directly into his eardrums. His barely cracked open eyes are met with some demonic goat face. It's a cheap jumpscare, but it has him clawing the headset off of himself desperately, pleading;

"Helphelphelphelp!"

Rational thought has just about left him. It's been replaced by sheer panic and it's got fast tears streaming from his eyes, pooling up in the tight-fitting headset his shaky hands are uselessly pulling at. He yelps when some other hands grab his, holding them still in a firm grip. Another pair slides the hell device off of his head and the world blurs for a moment before Elyse's face comes into a teary eyed half-focus.

"Hey, baby boy! Let me see those pretty eyes." She encourages him, which makes him feel a turbulent mix of relieved and humiliated. Especially when a sob shakes through his whole body and the tears only come faster.

"I'm so sorry, Adam. Can you please breathe for us? Deep breath in, deep breath out." James speaks as he loosens the wrist straps and takes the controllers off of Adam's hands. As soon as they're gone he launches himself at Elyse, wrapping as much of himself around her as he can.

And, yeah, he… kinda loses it.

It's not pretty. Harsh sobs seem like they're being ripped out of him, salty tears soaking her shirt where he's hidden his face. He's slipped, very much so, and as much as he hates the idea of doing such a thing at work because of a barely scary game, there isn't much he can do about it now beyond leaning into the comfort offered to him. Nausea rises in his stomach at the guilt he feels when James's attempt at reassuring touch makes him flinch. Unreasonable. Stupid. He wants to hide under a desk or a bed or _something_ where he never has to come out again. Never has to stress these two like this again.

It's somewhere between these thoughts that the most horrifying realization of all dawns on him.

He's warm.

And wet.

The sound that leaves his throat is as painful to hear as it is to make. He lets go of Elyse and struggles out of her calm embrace, desperate to put distance between them. Desperate for this not to be real. His vision is so blurred by tears and the headache forming in the front of his brain that he can't see the expression on their faces, which is a fact he's internally grateful for. His hands make an aborted reach for his jeans but they're soaked and he can't stop shaking and there's still that _fear_ , that guttural terror stuck deep inside his chest and clawing anxiety into him from the inside out, deep trenches of an overwhelming desperation to run sunk into the walls of his chest telling him to go, go, _go_ \--

But you can't run when your feet don't touch the ground. And his aren't, suddenly. No, suddenly he's off the wet floor and being held like he's nothing. Like he weighs nothing, because he's certainly something. He's the something currently getting James's nice clothes wet with his own physically manifested form of failure. The change in position catches him off guard enough to snap him out of the sobbing.

"It's fine, Adam. Clothes can be washed. You're fine." James comforts him, any semblance of earlier teasing gone from his voice entirely. Adam wants to squirm away. That's a lie. Adam feels like he _should_ squirm away. What he actually wants is to accept the help and just not think for a while.

For once, he does what he wants. He goes practically limp in James's arms, knowing full well the man can support his weight. The most he offers by way of assistance is wrapping his arms securely around the other man's neck, but that's really more for his own benefit. A hand smooths down his hair before rubbing his back and he recognizes the soft touch immediately, sighing as Elyse presses a kiss to the side of his head. Her voice melts into his brain.

"Let's get cleaned up and head home, huh bud? You and Benson can take a nap when we get there."

He forces himself to nod in spite of the throbbing still well at home in his head. A voice-- his voice-- screams at him that he should be more concerned about being carried in pissed pants through his workplace. He kindly tells himself to shut the hell up because James and Elyse are here. And they can handle anything. With that thought in mind, he slides his thumb into his mouth.

"Oh, no no no, Adam, baby, no thumb." Elyse gently tugs his thumb free as she speaks, voice unendingly apologetic. "Your hands aren't clean."

When had they started moving?

The thought only dawns on him when the bright light of the bathroom assaults his eyes. He whines and squeezes them shut, using James's shoulder as a shield from the flourescent hell above them. His whining only gets louder when he's lowered back to the floor, James helping to steady him on his own feet. He casts a short glance down at his now cold jeans before making sure to look anywhere else. The presence of the other two suddenly has him feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way he's never felt around them before. It's a less than optimal situation. He crams his thumb right back in his mouth and ignores their concerned looks. His own voice is slurred and scratchy when he speaks around the digit.

"What 'm I gonna wear?"

"James keeps spare gym shorts by his desk."

"In case of exercise emergencies."

She rolls her eyes. He finally cracks a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go grab a pair while you clean up. I'll be right back."

With a kiss to his forehead and a quick squeeze of his bicep, she's out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her. He looks back to James, feeling a weird mixture of spaced out and nervous. Cleaning up. That's next. His teeth sink into the skin of his thumb as he worries at it, but James acts like absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary, smiling at him and grabbing a pack of wet wipes off the bathroom counter. The casual tone relaxes him. By the time Elyse is returned, he's about as clean as he's going to get without a shower, his wet clothes folded up and sitting to the side. He gratefully accepts the basketball shorts and slides them on. The relief is immediate and profound. He's clean. He doesn't smell like pee. And Elyse is holding his hand, which just makes him feel nice and kinda special. Things will be okay.

Elyse guides him out of the building and to the car while James goes to gather Benson and their things. She opens the back door for him, which makes him blush, and buckles him in, which pretty much turns him into a tomato. The drive home is filled with his two favorite people in the world talking about what to make for dinner, a soft dog head in his lap, the 'emergency car pacifier' in his mouth, and not an ounce of fear to be found.

They have pasta.

**Author's Note:**

> my co-author said he'll fight anyone in the comments who acts like an asshole.


End file.
